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"You lead him here," ShadowFett said to Mandalore. "You are bound to him by contract or your word, are you not? You will prove wrong my acceptance of you as a Mandalorian if you turn your guns on him now. But you will refute my acceptance just as much if you attack me. I am confident that I can handle either situation if I must, but I know that you have more honor than that.

 

"You may feel humiliated by my words, Mandalorian, but understand that I hold you in the highest respect as one that has held on to his morals and heritage despite the corrupt influence of the galaxy. It takes more than a man to do that. It takes a Mandalorian.

 

"I ask you now to heed my words as the words of an equal, one who bested you in fair combat this once, whether I could repeat the feat or not. Your use of technology is not unsimilar to my own, but you must remember that your skill is the only important thing. Invulnerability is worthless if you rely on it. You must armor yourself with boldness and skill. If those are not enough to save your life, then you lose to a superior opponent, and your death brings you the glory that you and I both seek," he continued, his voice even and emotionless.

 

"Stand firm in the Codex laid down by Jaster Mereel. Together, you and I can show the galaxy what a Mandalorian is. But when I say 'together', I do not enlist your aid. If it is up to me, we will never cross paths again. I am enslaved to vengeance I swore on a day not long ago--you will honor me and stay out of it.

 

"If you still wish to question me concerning the Black Sun, remain here until the Black Sun withers. If I die, I will not be able to help you, but know that I will die with glory. If I prevail, I will prevail with honor, and help you I will," ShadowFett finished. His throat was a little sore--he wasn't used to talking that much--but he had said what was in need of saying.

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Cocky little bastard, isn't he? Mandalore thought to himself.

 

There was a rather large chunk of Phrikite ore petruding from the ground nearby, that Mandalore noted would be perfect to sit on. After a closer evaluation he decided it would best if he just leaned against it. Turning his DC-17m on it's side, he began to visually inspect the ejection port. ShadowFett was still preaching to him, though never taking his eyes off the visitors in the distance.

 

"For someone reputed for not being much of a talker, I think you may have just recently fell in love with the sound of your own voice. I don't need you dictate to me where my loyalties lie. My deal with Piccolo was to eliminate you if possible, but the catch was he had to be here to witness your death. You won the fight and sparred my life, so that cancelled my part in the agreement."

 

"Your use of technology is not unsimilar to my own, but you must remember that your skill is the only important thing. Invulnerability is worthless if you rely on it. You must armor yourself with boldness and skill." he said.

 

I can accept that you bested me in combat....barely, but that does not entitle you to talk down to me as if I were a child. I know what I am and am not capable in combat. My skills have never been in question. I too am a former Black Sun agent. Hell, I am your predecesor. I set the standards that many after me have governed themselves by. Believe me when I say had I truely come here with the intention of killing you.....Forget it. You say we are equal, Fett? Then start treating me as such!"

 

Click-Clack! The injection port was cleared and Mandalore slapped in a fresh ammo cartridge. His pulse wave armor now fully operational, gave off a sutle hum.

 

"I am here now as an observer. You want the glory of fighting your old mentor, then go ahead. I am no threat to you. Though I am am interested in the outcome."

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War is cruelty. There's no use trying to reform it, the crueler it is the sooner it will be over.

--William Tecumseh Sherman--

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ShadowFett was a little annoyed by the lack of respect Mandalore was showing him, but he didn't allow the other Mandalorian to get the scent of it. He would not allow himself to be enraged because this man disagreed with him. He was certainly a powerful combatant, but he had been defeated. "One will never learn if he shuts his ears to advice," he said simply, leaving it at that.

 

A Mandalorian was about self-improvement, and someone who was defeated in combat should feel blessed to receive criticism from the one who defeated them. If improvement was stifled, then someone would come up with a way to defeat you. And it would work every time.

 

Still, Fett did not dwell on Mandalore's stubborn attitude. It wasn't very Mandalorian-like for him to have it, but it was no longer Fett's concern. He needed to focus on Piccolo for the time being, and he could ensure that there would be no interference from Mandalore. Both men, Mandalore and himself, were stubborn and a little arrogant, but ShadowFett sounded more arrogant than he intended to.

 

It didn't matter. Still untwitching, Fett gripped his assault rifle a little harder and used his macrobinocular viewplate to get a better look at Piccolo. Last time they had fought, it had been in the arena on Dubrillion, which was now a pile of rubble. This time, it would be to the death, the defeated gaining glory and the victor gaining experience.

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OOC: lol, sorry

 

IC: Piccolo should have been paying more attention to the battle. He noticed they'd stopped fighting and were just talking to one another. His sensitive hearing caught ShadowFett's challenge to him.

 

That was anticlimactic. No one died.

 

The hunter was somewhat disappointed in Mandalore's performance. He turned to Beltran,

 

"Watch my back, make sure Mandalore doesn't try to get a cheap shot in. If I lose, which I won't, you're next course of action is up to you. You can go after Fett or go home."

 

Piccolo left Beltran, using his rocket pack to take him to the battlefield.

 

"Let's get this over with Fett."

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Beltran nodded as his employer sped off from the outcropping. He had to admit that he was slightly disappointed that he would not get to fight, but that was all right. Fett was Piccolo's apprentice, it is only right that Piccolo be the one to kill him. Beltran pulled a length of fiber composite cord from his utility belt and fixed it to a nearby boulder. With expert precision, he repelled down the face of the outcropping, landing on the ground a few seconds later.

 

I should really look into getting a jet-pack, He mused.

 

With his weapon raised in the ready position, Beltran quickly closed the distance between himself and Piccolo, Fett and Mandalore. He arrived upon the scene just as Piccolo was speaking.

 

"Let's get this over with Fett."

 

Beltran stood off to the side, he would not interfere with this matter of honor until it had been resolved, one way or the other. Instead, he kept a watchful eye on Mandalore. Irratation radiated from the Mandalorian's body language. Probably angry that he lost to Fett. Beltran hoped that he would stay out of the impending battle. Beltran had been rather impressed with the bounty hunter's skill and didn't want to have to kill him.

 

It would be a waste of talent. But, if the Mandalore so much as flinches in the wrong direction, I will have to turn him into a smoking crater of ground nerf meat.

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OOC: Three-post duel. As a courtesy, I'll start. I prefer Will for the ruling.

 

IC:

His posture unchanging, ShadowFett sized up Piccolo as he approached. Already adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt no fear concerning the possibility of his death, but to feel no fear was to get oneself killed. Fear often cleared ones mind and gave them the necessary strength and devotion required to win a battle. Adrenaline gave a man strength and unparalleled precision.

 

The biggest problem with fear was that it often overrode actions and forced warriors to make very basic flaws. Their instincts took over and turned them into animals, desperate, seeking a way to become victorious against an opponent that they believed would kill them. They lost all hope of victory and babbled, begging for their lives when their death loomed close and dying a death devoid of honor.

 

Fett was different. He was a Mandalorian. Death to him was not something that was to be feared or avoided at any cost. To him, death was glory. Glory was what every Mandalorian lived for, some even worshipping combat itself as the god that they followed. They prepared constantly for it, every moment improving themselves. Fett himself often stood motionless for hours to quell irrational impulses to move or twitch.

 

No matter what gripped his heart or pulsed through his veins, he remained in control of himself. He had honed his very instinct to fight with precision and confidence even if he lost all control of himself. His appearance would never change, always exuding emotionless efficiency. He felt no internal struggle, no desperation. Combat was life, and he lived only for combat and self-improvement.

 

His goal was to etch his name into the imperceptable stone of time as the first mortal being to reach the coveted status of perfection. He was to be the sum of all the skill of the Mandalorians since they were known as the Da Werda Verda. He was to be the product of millenia of training doctrines and moral values, the ultimate warrior, the ideal that was fundamental to all those inspired by combat.

 

This was one step along the way. "Piccolo," he said aloud. "It is good to see you well. I must admit, there are times when I wish things hadn't turned out the way they did with Black Sun. But I assure you--if I was confronted with the same situation again, I would make the same choice. Last time we fought, we were on the same side. Now that things are different, I expect you to fight to your full potential, for I intend to do the same."

 

Immediately ShadowFett's mind snapped into combat mode. Piccolo employed the use of a blastshield that could effectively block all of his blaster attacks save ones from his disruptor rifle. His rail detenator's blast could be mostly contained by the shield, but the force would easily knock it out of Piccolo's machine-enhanced grasp. The senior bounty hunter also employed an electro-whip at surprising moments, something that Fett would have to be mindful of.

 

They knew how to fight each other, that much was clear. But who could improvise better?

 

The Mandalorian sprung into action, running a strafe pattern while throwing fully-automatic fire from his powerful assault rifle at his former leader. The shots didn't come as quickly as they would from most automatic weapons, but speed was made up for with power and accuracy. Each went precisely where Fett directed it to go.

 

Immediately skipping pleasantries and forgoing preliminary blaster barrages, Fett activated his jetpack and rocketed towards Piccolo at an angle that would lead him over the half-trandoshan's head. He continued fire from his assault rifle, then cut power to his jetpack and landed closeby, firing his flamethrower at close range to buy himself enough time to pull his vibrosword from its sheath. Piccolo was one he could fight in melee combat for at least part of the battle--the Black Sun leader's force pike had a reach advantage, but only the tip was deadly.

 

The sun, meanwhile, was fading behind a sand dune, casting the world into twilight. The temperature began to drop as well, and a breeze picked up sand and scattered it through the air, mixing with debris and rubble from Fett's recent miniature mining excapade not long prior to his fight with Mandalore. It was one more fact Fett would keep his eye on, searching for an appropriate way to make full use of his surroundings.

 

((1))

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-Encrypted comm to Piccolo-

 

Piccolo, I have just recieved news from Milo Minderbinder directed to you, concerning the return of Smash Daisaku to the Black Sun. If more information is required, contact me at the citadel.

 

-End of transmission-

I have a high art; I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me.

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OOC: Alright, I'll pm him upon completion. Good luck.

 

IC: Piccolo knew full well this would be one of the most challenging fights of his career. Not even his last fight, the battle against that Dark Jedi would be as difficult as this. In that instance, Piccolo's skill had been a surprise to the creature. This time he and Fett knew each other's fighting abilities very well. Piccolo was certain they both had a few surprises prepared for this fight, but all in all, each of the warriors knew the calibur of their opponent. With this in mind, Piccolo listened to Fett's words, but remained silent, judging the man's speech.

 

I can tell he is sincere. But it does little to squelch my anger. A traitor is something I cannot stomach, and ShadowFett is a traitor. There will be no reconciliation. This will end badly for both of us.

 

The betrayal Piccolo felt was very deep. And he knew he would have to control these emotions if he was to be victorious. His Doshan blood would be a liability in this fight. Fett couldn't be overcome by mere brawn, this was a battle of wits more than anything. He could surge his strength with his Doshan fire, but it clouded his judgment. In this respect, the hunter recalled their last battle vividly. It had been only practice, but Fett had beat him badly. There was no denying that he had been outsmarted. This was a new day though, and they were both fighting for their lives. He hoped Fett realized victory would not be as easy. He had to know regardless of who won, both would come out in bad shape. Piccolo breathed slowly as he allowed this thoughts to drift away, and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Once he had acknowledged there would be pain, he was ready for it. He did not want to die, but if that was the outcome so be it. If Piccolo couldn't win, he really didn't deserve to survive. This last thought leaving his brain, at las, the half-Doshan was mentally prepared. His synthetic eyes stared at the Mandalorian, as if trying to read his intentions.

 

Piccolo didn't have to wait long. Fett struck fast, not wasting a moment after his little speech. Piccolo wasn't too surprised, and he was pleased Fett had no intention of wasting their time. The powerful blasts came fast, but Piccolo unslung his shield, set his feet, and used his near perfect vision to block the shots. But as those shots were blocked, already Fett was flying above. The hunter's shield followed the line of fire, but he was caught a little out of position only being able to rotate half his body in time. When Fett landed, he only barely got his shield around, and fell back from the flamethrowers fire. Piccolo turned the fall into a backward roll, coming up out of range of the flames. Through the dying flames, Piccolo saw Fett's vibroblade flash in his hand. The last vestiges of light glinted of its surface as the sun set.

 

I survived the first round. Let's see if he is so lucky.

 

Piccolo's vision switched to infrared to counteract the dwindling light and flowing sand. His suit was temperature controlled, so for now he had no reason to fear the cold of night. But he was half-Doshan. If his suit was damaged too much, the cold would hurt him.

 

A Doshan wouldn't even survive a few hours of the night without a suit like mine. So a half-Doshan isn't much better off. Protect your armor. Don't forget that.

Piccolo was handicapped holding the shield, while Fett had a free hand. It was only a matter of time before he pulled another weapon, so Piccolo knew this next exchange would have to be quick. Piccolo charged forth as the flames dissapated. He went for his own vibroblade, instead of his force pike. Piccolo felt he had the advantage in closer quarters. Piccolo and Fett swept their blades at one another three quick times, neither scoring a hit. The vibroblades struck one another with enough force to nearly shatter the weapons. Piccolo tried to force Fett to lock their weapons together, but the Mandalorian knew Piccolo had a strength advantage. He dodged just out of range to prevent such a maneuver.

 

Yes, this will be interesting. Anyone else would have tried to match my strength, not realizing my limbs are not flesh and blood.

 

The hunter used two of those limbs to somersault over Fett's head. He came down into a crouch as he heard his opponent's blade swipe over his head. Piccolo twisted half his body. His vibroblade had already been buried in the sand, leaving his right arm free. He pointed that arm forward, hitting Fett with a spray of liquid nitrogen. Fett was fast enough that the damage was only done to his left side, not his full body. Nonetheless, Piccolo felt the irony in their first choice of attacks. Fire vs. ice.

 

((1))

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The vest that ShadowFett's Mandalorian armor was mounted upon was extremely resistant to the elements as well as energy blasts themselves--it employed a thick matrix that dispersed energy into a much wider spread, offering only kinetic force rather than the lethal blow that blasters had been manufactured to deal out.

 

Piccolo's attack was nonetheless unexpected--Fett had never seen him employ such tactics in the past. His reflexes combined with his vest to minimize the spray's effects, but he would need to be mindful of that which had bypassed both forms of defense--later in the fight, it could numb his leg enough to hinder him, though as long as he kept active, he could prevent the freezing.

 

As vibroswords crossed, ShadowFett came to many of the same deductions that Piccolo himself was. He could not win a matchup of brute strength, but he had never claimed to favor such a combat style to begin with. If he managed to land a solid blow and cause Piccolo a good amount of pain, the half-trandoshan would possibly enter a rage and make mistakes that resulted from being untrained in instinct. Piccolo had never been able to fully overcome his trandoshan instincts, and they had often gotten him into--and out of--trouble.

 

The Mandalorian again crossed blades with the one that he had once respected. The metal alloys clashed, each emiting a faint but audible hum due to their hypersonic vibrations. The same vibrations created sparks that scattered from stress points, finding random paths outwards until they dissapated into the cold twilight that contrasted the pure heat of the battle that was building towards its climax.

 

Fett followed a well-trained pattern for the next few seconds, attacking in points along a full arc, doubling them randomly in an attempt to get Piccolo to guard incorrectly. Once he did, but his blast shield raised to cover for his error. Fett immediately took advantage of the situation and triggered a command through his helmet.

 

From his knee plates launched a pair of thumb-sized grenades that had been employed frequently at the most opportune moments over Fett's long career. They had only a short delay and had the option to be detenated upon impact with their target, and the latter situation quickly became true. The small explosives slipped underneath Piccolo's defenses and his his armor, exploding with the same fury that the half-trandoshan held against Fett.

 

As Piccolo stumbled backwards, Fett advanced slowly and methodically. His face was hidden, so his appearance simply portrayed a complete lack of emotion. He was simply cold, devoid of feeling. It was only deep in the core of his being that thousands of complex emotions and calculations--the very essence of ShadowFett--were coming into and fading out of existance in the blink of an eye. Millions of possibilities clamored through, and out of them Fett picked his interpretation of what he would most likely come true--therefore, he could counter it properly.

 

But truly it was not ShadowFett that fought this battle. There was something deeper, hidden even beyond those calculations and interpretations. Truly, ShadowFett was but a name, but a mask that one donned. His true self had a name that even he had all but forgotten. ShadowFett was a crude title given to him by those who observed him; the appearance of someone with armor such as his had been scarce since the beginning of the Galactic Civil War. The last truly known Mandalorians had been Jango Fett and his heir Boba. Fett's nickname had been sprung simply from their last name and his shadow-like armor. It was impossible for those who brought the name into existance to have understood the similarities Fett shared with a shadow beyond that, but it was equally impossible for them to see the plain contrast that was also there.

 

It was the moral Fett that had to defeat Piccolo. It was Kandor Fett, one raised by the heir to a Death Watchman who seeked repentance and had recalled his heritage for what it truly was after the Mandalorian Civil War ended. It was a twisted reality, but a reality that was true and just in its own spectral way.

 

Now this being, under the guise of ShadowFett, moved again to attack Piccolo, the representation of evil and immorality, Kandor Fett's uttermost antagonist.

 

Fett attacked once to keep Piccolo on the ground, then made himself back off. Melee combat was not his path for this fight. His instincts dictated to him that things would need to be different. It was almost akin to a Jedi's Force sense, but it was even deeper and more engrained into his being. He withdrew and armed himself with his disruptor rifle, a weapon that could disentagrate even Piccolo's blast shield. It was illegal and highly powerful, capable of blowing through meters of durasteel with a single shot, consuming an immense charge in the process.

 

It had killed Jedi Master Kirlocca. Fett raised it and fired.

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Piccolo's face had flushed with anger beneath his helmet at Fett's grenade assault. He'd allowed his defenses to be penetrated and now he'd have to pay the price. The small grenades exploded against his armor, sending him reeling back a few steps. The outer layers of the armor had been pierced easily. In fact, one tiny piece of shrapnel had made it all the way through, embedding itself into his skin. Blood trickled out from between the cracks in his upper thigh. Piccolo heard his own voice let out a low growl.

 

I will tear him limb from limb.

 

In a moment of rage, Piccolo stepped forward right into Fett's line of fire. It was a foolish error that caused him to see the disruptor rifle far too late. Piccolo brought up his shield, leaping to the side. His cybernetic implants made him faster than any human or Doshan, but there was no way to avoid a shot like that at such a range. The blast didn't hit him full on, but grazed his shield and arm. From a disruptor rifle, that was all that was necessary. The shield completely shattered on impact. Piccolo hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him. He knew if his arm and shoulder hadn't been synthetic, they would have been broken from the impact. He would have been immobilized.

 

Most bounty hunters avoid disruptors because of how destructive they are, and because of how much power is needed to use them. But I knew Fett possessed one. I'd seen him use it before. It was a stupid mistake.

 

Piccolo had paid the price for losing his temper. It was not an error he'd make in this battle again. But even this small error might turn out to be the death of him in the end. Piccolo didn't care much about that. He cared only that he live or die as a thinking creature, not a mindless animal.

 

I will control myself. I am not a brainless lizard.

 

Piccolo pushed off from the ground with his good arm. His powerful strength, thrusted the hunter back onto his feet. He read the readout on his visor of the damage to his left arm, not wanting to take his eyes off Fett.

 

Part of my forearm was blown completely off. It's lucky that I have no pain receptors there. But my armor was absolutely useless against the disruptor, and that arm won't be good for much.

 

Piccolo audibly confirmed the success of Fett's attack by the sound of sparks coming from the arm. He wouldn't be able to hit with it, but it might just be able to hold a small weapon. That was a lucky break in Piccolo's mind. He had accepted the cost of his foolishness and tried to learn from it. As he had finished standing, the hunter realized he was still staring down the muzzle of that rifle. He couldn't take another hit from it, not if he wanted to survive.

 

I don't know if he's got enough power for another shot, but I'm not taking any chances.

 

Piccolo's right arm stretched out, firing his grappling hook. Normally he would have tried to wrap it around the Mandalorian. But Piccolo's strategy was to change tactics in this battle, and this attack would be no different. Instead of aiming for the hunter's waist or shoulders, the hook was shot so that it would fly straight. The grappling end buried itself into Fett's disruptor rifle.

 

It would have just bounced off his armor anyway. But I don't need to hit him to bring the pain to my old friend.

 

Before the hook had even made contact, Piccolo had already activated the button on his suit. Powerful volts of electricity flowed through the wire, into the disruptor, and into Fett. It fried the disruptor instantly, but was no doubt mostly absorbed by his opponent's armor. However, Piccolo knew by experience the voltage could penetrate most armor, and he had no doubt Fett was at least feeling something from the attack. Piccolo also knew some of Fett's systems would be temporarily damaged. Fett wouldn't be vulnerable for long, he needed to act fast.

 

Piccolo retracted the cord, funneling as much power from his suit as he could into pulling the wire back. It zipped toward Piccolo with extreme speed, pulling the rifle and the attached Mandalorian along with it. Fett no doubt had the presence of mind to let go, but Piccolo was also running forward as the wire retracted. He brought his right arm up, and closelined the temporarily stunned warrior. Piccolo's arm could tear through durasteel, and it easily cracked the visor of his opponent. In fact, the bludgeoning Fett felt was of concussion level force. Not letting up, he brought up his foot and drove it toward Fett's chest, hoping to catch one more hit. As he had been making this attack, Piccolo had decided to speak. Silence was normally his ally in battle. But once again, he was trying to vary his tactics.

 

"You are a proud and powerful Mandalorian ShadowFett. I would put you with the Mandalorians of old, even Boba Fett and Jango Fett, both of whom I myself admire. But when I became a bounty hunter, I realized it took more than a resourceful mind and an outdated code to win battles. The Fetts and other Mandalorians did not understand this, and I don't think you do either. And that is because ShadowFett, you have forgotten that all Mandalorians have shared the same fate. All of them, including the Boba and Jango, are dead. Let us see if you follow their legacy."

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ShadowFett felt a flash of anger tear through his veins as he was caught by the same trick that Mandalore had used only minutes before. Electricity fried his hand and he flinched as the charge made the jump in the form of a thin tendril of light to his helmet, where it disabled most of his scanners and the command system that allowed him to use his armor's weapon functions. It was a frustrating development, but not one that Fett would dwell on.

 

He would worry about his mistakes when the battle was over. For the moment, he had to work on getting there. His anger disappeared completely and he cleared his mind as he found himself being pulled rapidly through the air towards Piccolo. He released his useless disruptor rifle and braced himself for physical impact, knowing fully that his momentum would carry him on through an all-too-predictable course.

 

Piccolo hit him high and slammed him violently to his back. It didn't hurt, but it was incredibly jarring. His visor cracked and his spine strained, coming close to breaking and killing him. But he was strong and refused to be beated in such a way--he would not be overcome due to a mistake of his own.

 

With the hit and the cracked visor came incredible pain blasting through his head. He was utterly stunned for a moment, like one who had been blinded by a blow to the eyes, only the blindness was mental. It was incapacitating for someone like Fett, who based each of his actions on his mental ingenuity and prowess. Still, instinct prevailed and he rolled for reasons that were unfounded in his mind and he heard (as well as felt through a tremor in the ground) Piccolo's foot slam into the earth where he had been with enough force to have crushed him between the layers of his armor.

 

Coming up on his feet, the warrior shakily (but not slowly) grabbed his Westar blaster pistols and fired point blank into a flat-footed Piccolo. The bolts hit hit armored shoulders with force, force that was exponentially increased when the Mandalorian threw himself bodily into his former leader, who now corrupt and in combat with him.

 

Already internal systems were beginning to come back online--they were almost as hardy and capable as Fett himself. Fett landed atop Piccolo in the sand, where the former treated him to a punch with his good arm. Fett returned the hit with his left arm (it didn't matter which as he was ambidextrous), then slammed his helmeted head into Piccolo's when the half-trandoshan attempted to rise.

 

Fett rose first and got his bearings, though both sharp pain and dull, resounding pain were the dominant things he could feel. It made concentrating difficult, but ShadowFett knew that he only needed to hold on a little longer--both combatants wouldn't be able to keep up this intense combat much longer without one making a fatal mistake.

 

He hadn't given any thought to Piccolo's words when they were said, but not that he had a second or two, he quickly reviewed them. The half-trandoshan had outrightly insulted the Mandalorian Codex and the Mandalorians as a faction. He had pointedly and tauntingly referred to the deaths of each Mandalorian throughout history. Almost all had been killed in combat.

 

But to Fett, this was the single most important truth about the Mandalorians, and it was what made them truly great. They had all been killed in combat. They had been given great glory and unbelievable honor. Fett, too, would one day meet that same glory, surpassing that which could be obtained among the living.

 

But that time was not now. His influence on the galaxy was not over, and his purpose was not complete. Piccolo would not kill him--for death's glory was only reduced by an opponent who lacked honor himself. This was not honorable combat for Piccolo, and that was yet another difference between these two combatants. Approach to combat was as important as the outcome, for ShadowFett. Just the same, the outcome of combat dictated the next battle's approach.

 

As Piccolo stood, Fett regarded him for the last time with remorse. This was Piccolo, the one that had always been there in the most difficult combat situations of the past. He had been a mentor, a pillar in the sea of enemies that flooded the galaxy. He had been a guiding light once, one that Fett could respect and follow unquestioningly. He had been more loyal to Piccolo than he had ever been to any being save one, the one that had taught him the path of a Mandalorian.

 

But every quality that Piccolo had was overcome by a dozen faults, a dozen dishonors, and a dozen reasons that him and Fett were never meant to be on the same side. There was too much darkness in the galaxy, too much evil that directly offended the Codex. There were too many reasons that Piccolo would never fill the mold of the leader and friend that he was simply required to be.

 

Perhaps Fett's standards were too high. Perhaps they were impossible. He didn't care.

 

Regardless, he didn't answer Piccolo's taunt with words. He answered them with another flurry of blasterfire. With no shield, Piccolo would have little with which to defend himself, and Fett targeted the weakened points and typcially underarmored places found on the half-trandoshan's armor. It would only take a few more well-placed shots to wound him enough to bring him down despite his strength and convictions--if he was even capable of having conviction.

 

The climax of my training is now. I will emerge from this fight victorious--in one way or another. Victory will grant me glory that will only be surpassable by defeat.

 

This was the end of a long road and the beginning of another one.

 

((3))

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The fight the was taking place before his eyes was an impressive one. Both opponents gave as good as they got. The being known as Piccolo turned out to be more of an hard a$$ than Mandalore had expected. His command of the battlefield and brutal tactics, were matched by Fett's calculating techniques and sheer relentlessness. In his mind while watching the fight, Mandalore saw his fight against ShadowFett playing out in a similar fashion had he sold out to the Black Sun and fought to kill.

 

In truth, Mandalore was only watching the fight passively out of the corner of his eye. There was something else that held his attention. Piccolo had not come alone. There was someone else out there. A professional. The other being was hard to track, though there only a few places out on the distant horizon were you could effectively get a precise shot off. It was these areas that he gave his full attention to.

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War is cruelty. There's no use trying to reform it, the crueler it is the sooner it will be over.

--William Tecumseh Sherman--

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Not bad. I trained you well.

 

Piccolo hated ShadowFett now, there was no doubt about it. He could barely contain his Doshan blood from boiling over. There was no man he'd ever wanted to kill more. But he could still respect the man's combat skill. When Fett first came to Piccolo, he had raw talent, but no understanding of how the galaxy worked. Piccolo had taught him how to function and refined the Mandalorian's skill. Now that Fett was his own man, Fett sought to teach Piccolo the nature of the universe with his renewed commitment to the Mandalorian code. It seemed their relationship had come full circle.

 

All of this flashed through the half-Doshan's mind as he was pounded with blaster shots. Tendrils of smoke rose from his shoulders as he felt the pain burn through his armor. His shoulder blade was metallic, and their was little damage there and no pain. But his upper chest and the rest of his shoulder were flesh, cooked flesh now, and it felt as if his skin was on fire. Piccolo's foot was stuck in the ground where he attempted to smash the Mandalorian, he was a sitting du.

 

With the pain worsening and death approaching, the hunter was about to go for broke and send them both to the next world with the small rocket built into his right arm. At this range, they'd both be dust. But lucky for each of them, Fett tackled the Doshan and ended his barrage. It was a surprising move, perhaps Fett knew Piccolo's mind better than the Doshan thought. The smaller man's blows were felt, but the armor of both the warriors was too much cushioning for real damage. It was an excercise in futile anger for them both, even Piccolo's metal arm couldn't get any leverage for a real hit. The fire still burned on his torso, and some of the inner layer of his armor had melted into his skin. Nearing frustration, Piccolo began to rise, only to be knocked back down with a head-butt. The metal plate in his forehead from an encounter early in his career prevented a concussion. But Piccolo could tell my his partially bent visor, the force of ShadowFett's attack had dented his helmet. The readouts on his screen went completely blank. He shook the cobwebs from his brain.

 

I guess the visor won't be of much use at this point anyway. This is almost over.

 

Piccolo had to admit, he very surprised at the ferocity of Fett's counterattack. The man was braver than Piccolo gave him credit for. Well, braver than he had wanted to give him credit for. Piccolo knew Fett's true character, they had fought side by side. But part of him still clinged to the moral code he'd possessed in his youth, and he didn't want to believe Fett could be in the right and also be against him.

 

I cannot fool myself, I've abandoned any moral trappings. Who really knows if Fett is right to stick by his Mandalorian codes? I am the last person who should be judging that. In the end, I do not think it is relevant. The truth is that regardless of which of us is morally right, I am the one living in reality. The reality is Fett's code will lead him to death as it has all other Mandalorians. The least I can do for my old friend is bring that death to him now, with honor, rather than to allow him to die later at the hands of his own short-sighted code.

 

As these thoughts crossed his consciousness, Piccolo suddenly felt the weight upon his chest lift as Fett rose. There was the scent of suspense in the air. Piccolo had smelled it before, it always came at the end of the battle. With new resolve, the hunter looked at the red outline of Fett. Night had completely fallen, and Piccolo looked upon Fett in complete infrared. It was a surreal experience, one of them would never see the light of day again.

 

Time to find out who.

 

Piccolo saw the pistols muzzle as he turned. His arms and chest still burned, and he would be killed if he allowed another barrage to hit him. The hunter ripped his belt off tearing into one of the pounches. He didn't have time to feel fool around feeling for the right one. As the bolts came toward him, Piccolo tossed a handful of pellets into the ground at Fett's feet. He wasn't sure whether he'd tossed knockout gas or poisonous gas, both were kept in his belt. The gas wasn't supposed to hurt Fett, even with a cracked visor it probably wouldn't penetrate. No, there was a more sinister purpose in this maneuver. He ignored the first few shots that tore the remaining section of his mechanical left forearm completely off, the one that had been partially destroyed earlier in the battle. He'd already voice activated the command, knowing it would be quicker, he didn't need two arms.

 

"Right Arm Flamethrower. Engage."

 

The steady command was followed by a massive explosion that knocked Piccolo onto his back. The gas he'd unleashed was flammable to the point of being explosive. The shockwave had hit Piccolo, but Fett got the full force of the flames.

 

Not even a Fett could survive that.

 

Piccolo slowly wobbled to his feet to survey the damage. It was better that Fett disappeared into the wind of Gromas. It added to the Mandalorian mystique. His infrared vision had been knocked out, and as it came back to life, his eyes widened with the first true shock he'd received in a long time. Fett was still living and was now rising from the ground. It was obvious the Mandalorian had guessed Piccolo's maneuver at the last second and avoided the brunt of the explosion. There was still smoke rising from his opponent's armor, much worse than it had risen from Piccolo's. And clearly Fett had a few places where he'd been severly burned. But he was alive, and standing. Piccolo saw the warrior bring up his blaster pistol, and with his remaining arm, pulled his own from its holster. It would come down to an old fashioned quick draw. One shot between the eyes. He spoke the final words that one of them would ever hear.

 

"Good work ShadowFett."

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Beltran watched as the two warriors engaged in mortal combat. It was a testament to the cunning and casual brutality of this lifestyle. Fast ships, stacks of credits and a blaster bolt to the head the second you drop your guard. It was a harsh truth, but it was one that Beltran wouldn't have changed if he could. As each hunter leveled barrage after barrage of weapons fire at each other, Beltran found himself getting philosophical for the first time in his life.

 

This battle, he mused. Is truly a sight to behold. Two warriors, each a famed victor of countless battles, each at the pinnacle of they're careers, each engaged in the deadly minuet that is war.

 

It was too close to tell for certain who would win. Each warrior had given their entire being to the battle and as a result both Piccolo and Fett had given as much as they had received. Beltran maintained his watch on the bounty hunter Mandalore. So far, the defeated Mandalorian had not made any attempt to interfere. Beltran could tell that Mandalore was aware of his presence. It radiated from his body language. The hunter continued to scan his horizon, waiting for him to present a viable target. He's feeling edgy. Good.

 

As he turned to survey the battle, he was greeted with the sight of Piccolo unleashing a deadly fireball at Fett. Beltran was unsure of the physics behind it, but the obvious force of the blast left no doubt about the strength behind it.

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This was an awesome duel... I was really torn on who to choose, but I feel that Shadow Fett won this one. barely, but just enough... However, he will not survive long after that blast Piccolo had him get up from.

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[Associate of the Illinois Mafia since November 2001.]

Member of the Four Horsemen

The League of Shadows

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OOC: Nice fight. I can only feel relief.

 

IC:

Burning pain engulfed the warrior ShadowFett. Fire was everywhere, licking through his flightsuit and around his armor. His vitals were well-protected by his Mandalorian armor, which was heated by the blast but hardly damaged. The iron was designed to be able to fall through the atmosphere atop a Basilisk war droid without being killed.

 

But Fett sensed the same thing that Piccolo did as he forced himself to his feet and spun around--a good shot on either side now would win the battle. Fett spun and jerked his hand forward, his Westar-34 in his palm. As soon as he had a good shot--not before--he pulled the trigger and his cracked visor lit up red as the bolt lanced out.

 

He was faster than Piccolo and it won him the battle, when all was said and done. The bolt slammed into Piccolo's own visor perfectly, penetrating it and the metal plate in Piccolo's forehead. The half-trandoshan spun around, but Fett realized that he wasn't dead yet. He fired three more times, perfectly targeting weak and stessed points in Piccolo's armor from the battle. The bolts punched through and tore through flesh, burning and ravaging it.

 

Finally Piccolo fell, his life fading into nonexistance. ShadowFett allowed himself to display his current weakened state and dropped to a knee, pain the only thing he could focus on. His head hurt and his arms and legs burned, though there was nothing seriously wrong with any of his vital organs. He wouldn't die due to these burns, but he wasn't in much of a condition to fight the elusive operative Piccolo had brought with him.

 

Slowly, defiantly, Fett stood again. He regarded Mandalore, waiting vigilantly off to the side. "Only darkness there is in vengeance. But my vow against Piccolo is complete," he said, more to himself than Mandalore. With more purpose, he continued, "You may ask your questions, Mandalorian, but I would ask for a little time to recover first. There is another Black Sun operative out there--if he does not flee due to the death of his leader, continue to watch him if you decide to stay."

 

Fett then trudged over to and boarded the Night of Vengeance, which was on emergency systems. 2277 could use the quad laser cannons as well as the dropdown turret to defend the ship, so Fett would have privacy as long as he needed it.

 

Inside, he stripped off his armor and jumpsuit and removed his helmet. His face bore a cut due to a small piece of visor that had inserted itself in his skin when Piccolo had closelined him, though he hadn't noticed when it happened. He opened a storage compartment in the main room of the ship and began applying bacta to his arms, leg, and neck, which was also effected by the explosion, though to a limited degree due to his metal collar.

 

He had killed Piccolo, the one who had brought him so far. Through his experience in the Black Sun, he had become the warrior that he was now, though he would never amounted to anything without his Mandalorian training. Mandalorians may often be killed in combat, and I may follow a code that originated a long time ago, but the alternative is failure.

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Beltran watched as Piccolo fell to the ground, dead. Fett was the victor, although not by much. As he gazed upon the body of his leader, Beltran felt none of the anger or battlelust that he had when he had arrived upon this moon. Instead, a sense of finality rested over him.

 

It is finished.

 

Making a decision that would probably end his life, Beltran left the cover he had been hiding behind and approached the scorched ShadowFett and his companion. As he walked, Beltran heard Fett say something to Mandalore, but did not attempt to decifer it. It is not my business what they speak of now, I remain for only one purpose. With whatever he had needed to say said, Fett then made his way to his vessel.

 

After a few steps, Beltran allowed himself to become completely visible to the others. A few more steps brought him on to the scene of the battle. Standing over the body of the fallen Piccolo, Beltran spoke to Mandalore.

 

"This matter was a point of honor between Piccolo and ShadowFett. I did not interfere during their battle, and I am not inclined to do so now. However, being an operative of the Black Sun, it is my intention to return Piccolo's body to Coruscant. So you, and Fett should he wish to interfere, have two choices. You can allow me to collect Piccolo's body so I can leave. Or, you can attempt to stop me, and we will fight. What say you?"

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ShadowFett had survived the fight against his mentor, limping away from the the skirmish battered and bruised.

 

"Only darkness there is in vengeance. But my vow against Piccolo is complete," he said, more to himself than Mandalore. With more purpose, he continued, "You may ask your questions, Mandalorian, but I would ask for a little time to recover first. There is another Black Sun operative out there--if he does not flee due to the death of his leader, continue to watch him if you decide to stay."

 

That was the last thing Fett said to him before disappearing inside his ship. Mandalore nodded in response. The Black Sun operative came out of hiding, making himself more visible as he walked out into the open. Mandalore immediately recognized him as he got closer. It was his contact from the Last Call cantina.

 

The man was moderately armed. He stood by the motionless form on the ground that used to be Piccolo and made his demands.

 

"I can't let you do that. Piccolo is Fett's kill. Ultimately it is his decision what happens to Piccolo's remains. I guest this means your gonna have to fight me for him, friend?"

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War is cruelty. There's no use trying to reform it, the crueler it is the sooner it will be over.

--William Tecumseh Sherman--

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OOC: I've sent you a PM so we can decide how we want to handle this.

 

IC:

 

"I can't let you do that. Piccolo is Fett's kill. Ultimately it is his decision what happens to Piccolo's remains. I guess this means your gonna have to fight me for him, friend?"

 

Beltran thought for a moment, mulling over what Mandalore had said. It was true that Piccolo was Fett's kill. It was also true that according to the philosophy that both Mandalore and Fett followed, Fett was entitled to do whatever he wished with the remains. However, Beltran subscribed to no such philosophy. All he knew was that returning Piccolo's body to Coruscant was the only professional thing to do.

 

I am nothing, if not a professional. Beltran thought to himself.

 

"I must admit, I was impressed with your talent in your fight against Fett." He replied. "There is a part of me that would enjoy testing myself against you, and today it seems that I will be able to satisfy that part. I will fight you now, and speak with Fett later.”

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"Amused Statement: There seem to be weapon discharges taking place outside the ship," 2277 told ShadowFett as he finished up his bacta rubbing. The bacta worked amazingly fast, already dulling Fett's pain. Of course, his burns wouldn't be fully healed for some time, but this was as good a start as any.

 

"Curious," he said, "I didn't think Mandalore would fight the operative. I suppose his contract with Black Sun was cancelled with Piccolo's death or perhaps Mandalore's own failure to kill me, but what could they possibly be fighting over?"

 

The Mandalorian dressed himself in a plain, light blue tunic. He put on his Westar-34 holsters with the blaster pistols themselves still in them just so he was armed, then placed his helmet on his head to cover his face, which he didn't need either of the two men to see. It was a little mismatched between his tunic and helmet, but it was all he needed. Just moving his arms enough to accomplish these menial tasks was painful, but pain was something he had learned to ignore. It was a foolish thing to not do something because of pain.

 

Lowering the boarding ramp, Fett took a few steps down it so that he could see out, then waited, his hands resting on his Westars. Perhaps there was an easier way to finish this battle. He grabbed one of his pistols and raised it, firing and hitting Beltran Rarr's arm as he raised the vibroblade to strike Mandalore. "That won't be necessary," he said.

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The other man was good. The Black Sun had chosen with this one. He knew that his weapons had no chance of penetrating his armor, so he improvised. The force from the Flechete launcher at close range was enough to knock him off his feet, but nothing more. This was why he chose this particular armor configuration. It's more defensive, than agile.

 

The operative took full advantage of Mandalore's loss of footing, smashing the butt of his flechete launcher into his visor. The blow to his head only rattled his head inside his helmet. There was no visible damage. His opponent was trying his best to keep him pinned on the ground, but Mandalore was simply to strong for that. As he began to raise up, he was met with a very nasty looking vibro-blade. The operative tried repeatedly to land a deadly blow, but Mandalore armored forearms were more than sufficient for blocking his every attempt. He knew he was in no real danger as long as he didn't exspose a soft spot in his armor. Mandalore was waiting....waiting for the right moment to strike.

 

The other man was making a move. His opponent's body tensed as he readied his blade for the kill and Mandalore saw his opportunity. Just as he was about to act a blaster bolt struck his opponent's forearm, followed by a familiar voice. Shoving the other man off him and then rising to his feet, he truned to face the source of the shot fired.

 

"That won't be necessary," ShadowFett said, standing on the boarding ramp of his ship.

 

"Stay out of this Fett. This isn't your fight. It is between me and this man who is soon to be dearly departed. He initated the attack."

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War is cruelty. There's no use trying to reform it, the crueler it is the sooner it will be over.

--William Tecumseh Sherman--

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OOC: I really hope I'm not taking too many liberties with your character Mandalore. I'm still kinda new at this. PM offer still in effect if you want.

 

 

IC: "That won't be necessary,"

 

Beltran growled as the searing pain of his wound mixed with his sense of disbelief. I have made a fatal mistake believing that Fett had any honor. In an instant, any small advantage Beltran had over Mandalore had been taken away. The vibro-blade fell from his hand at the same time that Mandalore had shoved him back. Stumbling, Beltran knew that he had to act quickly or be destroyed. As Mandalore turned to Fett, Beltran was already moving. My only hope now, is to continue to press my original attack. I cannot allow this to become a firefight.

 

"Stay out of this Fett. This isn't your fight. It is between me and this man who is soon to be dearly departed. He initiated the attack."

 

As Mandalore spoke, Beltran closed the distance between them. He wanted to speak as well, but would not do so until he was ready.

 

”œMandalore,”

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ShadowFett furrowed his eyebrows beneath his helmet. It had not been his intent to interfere in a duel, of course, for such was dishonorable. But what was taking place hadn't been his idea of a duel--it appeared to be a surprise attack by the Black Sun operative for reasons unknown.

 

Regardless, there would be no regret. If Mandalore wanted to fight Beltran Rarr, then Fett wouldn't interfere. But Mandalore was still bruised from his fight with Fett, and there had been enough fighting on Gromas to last a century already, and one more for reasons seemingly pointless was unnecessary.

 

He did not love needless combat. He loved necessary combat that helped him to train and discipline himself. He could see how Mandalore could desire such combat as well, but fighting Beltran Rarr had no advantageous outcome in sight--both victory and defeat were of little consequence.

 

ShadowFett did not approve, but he would watch from the boarding ramp of the Night of Vengeance.

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The sound of a blade leaving it's sheath, caught his ears as he struggled against Beltran Rarr's attack. Mandalore quickly scanned his immediate surroundings for something he could use to defend himself. Just above his head to his left was a stone the size of a thermal grenade. He reached out dor the stone with his free hand, while the other held back opponent's advances. When his fingers finally found the stone he had an epiphany. As he stretched outward for this object, the cool air of the night touched his throat. It was then that he knew that he had exsposed a soft spot in his armor. The other man saw this opening as well.

 

Beltran Rarr had already committed himself to action about the same time Mandalore thought up an effective counter attack. His hand rose swiftly from the sand, holding the stone that struck the side of Beltran's head. Beltran was stunned by the blow, steadying himself from falling over by bracing with his free hand. Mandalore struck him again with the stone while he was partially incoherent, then dropping it to obtain a grip on the other man's neck. With Beltran's throat within his firm grasp, Mandalore extends his ten inch mandalorian blade from it's forearm housing. He rams the blade underneath Beltran's armpit. Beltran vibro-blade pierces the sand next to Mandalore's throat, causing a cut on the side of his neck.

 

The pain from the wound Mandalore inflicted caused Beltran to roll away from his dominant position on top. Mandalore rose to his feet, noting the small trickle of blood coming from the side of his neck. Beltran was on his knees, crawling toward one of his discarded weapons. Mandalore armed his arc caster and fired it at his opponent. The powerful volts of electricity contorted Beltran's body in anguish. He cut the power to the weapon after a minute, leaving the other man motionless. Mandalore walked over to where he lay and kicked away the weapon he was reaching for. Smoke poured from the Black Sun operative's armor as Mandalore used his foot to roll the man over on his back. Beltran was clearly breathing and his eyes were open.

 

"I don't want to kill you, but make no mistake....I will if you force my hand. Your loyalty to your boss is admirable, but you must understand this is a fight you can't win. Their is no honor in throwing away your life recklessly."

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War is cruelty. There's no use trying to reform it, the crueler it is the sooner it will be over.

--William Tecumseh Sherman--

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As the battle progressed, X7's ship landed silently to the rear of the whole ordeal. Once he was out, X7 formed into his standard attire, skin and all, and approached the scene.

 

Soon he found himself standing rather close to ShadowFett on his boarding ramp. While such a position had a tactical advantage, X7's primary mission objective was to get Piccolo's body. For some reason, Beltran had engaged in a fight before securing the body, "It appears that this battle has lost sight of the original purpose for Beltran's actions. My name is X7 - X9, I am an operative of the Black Sun. I understand two things: first, you have a bounty on your head, and two your custom dictates that since Piccolo is your kill, his body is yours. Both of these things mean little to my mission parameters right now. Logically it would be easier to get Piccolo's body without resistance from yourself, however conflict wouldn't be as needless as this appears to be."

 

"In the end, the choice is up to you. I get Piccolo's body, or more blood may be shed today...."

You believe you are superior; that the ability to think is your strength. Yet despite your ability you still fail to realize the weaknesses that haunt you. In the end you will come to realize that you are still:

 

Only human....

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Mindan's ship Laylaa appeared above the moon Gromas, but it was not being piloted by Mindan. Rodya sat at the helm directing the ship's actions. He flew the ship in close to the surface of the moon to investigate the events taking place.

 

"Crow," Rodya said to the R5 unit as they hovered just above the moon's surface, "Can you do a scan of the area and tell me how many people are currently here?"

 

Crow took a moment and then replied, "Well sir, there are four people here plus one more."

 

"So there are five people here?" Rodya asked, a bit annoyed with the droid's protocol.

 

"No sir, there are four plus one," the droid said again in its monotone electronic voice.

 

"Ok, whatever," Rodya said with disgust. He was tired of playing the droid's games. He quickly scanned the area and found a grouping of ships. He piloted Laylaa higher into the air, and then made his way towards the battle. He wanted to gain an overview of the fight before getting involved.

 

He manuvered into position above the dueling. He was in perfect position to gain an accurate overview of the area and to shoot down any person attempting to leave before the events had concluded. He could only see two men in the open. They appeared to be actively engaged in battle near another fallen body, probably the body of Piccolo. The others must be too close to the ships for me to make out.

 

"Crow can you tell me which one is Shadow Fett's space craft?"

 

The droid answered, "Yes sir, I am placing Fett's ship's signature in Laylaa's computer's now. If he tries to leave Laylaa's defenses will automatically target Shadow Fett and his ship."

 

He remained high above the fighting, unnoticed. Perhaps he would land and directly engage, or perhaps he would bombard all of the men on the ground with laser fire and then move in to collect his fallen employer's body. He wasn't sure of which, he preferred the fist of the two, a straight fight, but for the time being he sat in a defensive position making sure no one left.

 

((edited for grammar))

Edited by Guest
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Nothing ever goes according to plan”¦

 

In a split second, everything had changed. Mandalore, in a stunning display of ingenuity had managed to completely reverse their positions. Now Beltran was on the ground, writhing in the agony of electrical energy. Mandalore stood over him, his arc caster aimed down, prepared to make a killing blow. Beltran was fully prepared to meet his fate when Mandalore spoke.

 

"I don't want to kill you, but make no mistake... I will if you force my hand. Your loyalty to your boss is admirable, but you must understand this is a fight you can't win. There is no honor in throwing away your life recklessly."

 

There is no honor in failing in my mission, either.

 

He had not wanted to draw Mandalore, a virtual non-participant in Piccolo's demise, into an unnecessary fight. However, he had been given no choice when the bounty hunter had attempted to stop him from retrieving the body of his employer.

 

Beltran had been prepared to die in just the kind of reckless gesture that Mandalore had warned against when another voice came from the darkness.

 

"It appears that this battle has lost sight of the original purpose for Beltran's actions. My name is X7 - X9, I am an operative of the Black Sun. I understand two things: first, you have a bounty on your head, and two your custom dictates that since Piccolo is your kill, his body is yours. Both of these things mean little to my mission parameters right now. Logically it would be easier to get Piccolo's body without resistance from yourself, however conflict wouldn't be as needless as this appears to be. In the end, the choice is up to you. I get Piccolo's body, or more blood may be shed today.... "

 

So my transmission got threw. Beltran thought to himself. He had not expected such a small burst transmission to make it all the way back to Coruscant, but evidently it had. X7 ”“ X9, an operative he had never met, was right on the money however. I did allow my lust for battle to dictate my actions. I should have waited to speak directly with Fett, instead of responding to Mandalore's challenge. Moments later the one called X7 ”“ X9 was joined by another operative, a human wielding a blaster rifle.

 

Using an old mind trick, Beltran shunted the pain from his wounds and electrocution aside. Taking advantage of the slight waver in Mandalore's attention, Beltran rolled to the side. In an instant he was on his feet. To move as quickly as he had despite the pain had taken most of his self-discipline. Reaching down to his holsters, Beltran drew both of his Blastech Pistols and trained them on Mandalore. While I did not want this to turn into a firefight before, with the addition of these reinforcements I have the advantage.

 

Speaking quietly to Mandalore, Beltran said. ”œDo not attempt to interfere. You have succeeded in protecting ShadowFett's kill. But now ShadowFett is here to defend it for himself. I appreciate that you did not kill me when you had the chance, and as such I do not wish to have to fight you given these odds.”

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-Coded signal from starfighter Misery-

 

Proximity alert! Proximity alert! Three ships of unknown classes have just arrived in this sector. ETA four minutes.

 

-End transmission-

 

Mandalore read the message displayed over his right eye. A quick look up showed two of ships had already hit the atmosphere. He backed away a few feet behind Beltran where he had kicked away the flechete launcher. He retrieved tow heavy blaster pistols from their holsters in the small of his back. With a gun in each hand and the flechete at his feet he watched as the two ships landed and their pilots exited the cockpits.

 

Piccolo's body still lay about seven feet where he currently stood. The two pilots seemed more interested in Fett, than him. Turning up his sound amplication device confirmed to him what he had already suspected. These beings were members of the Black Sun. Mandalore searched the landscape for his rifle, while leveling one pistol at the two newcomers and the other was aimed at Beltran on the ground.

 

"Who the hell invited you guys? How do you want to handle this, Fett?"

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War is cruelty. There's no use trying to reform it, the crueler it is the sooner it will be over.

--William Tecumseh Sherman--

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